They were in Danville junkyard. Mountains of squashed cars rose up ail around, heaps of rusting parts were like an undergrowth. Oily puddles reflected the moonlight. The taste of lead and steel was in Rose’s mouth, painfully careening off her fillings.

“What’s this all about?” she screamed, her voice the sound of metal rasping against metal.

Nancy pointed. Her long, bony finger went out and reached and reached, beyond the rust and rubber and oil to a stack of sodden deflated tires.

“There,” she said.

“What?” Rose strained her eyes, but it was like looking through shadows. “What is it? I don’t see anything.”

Nancy grabbed and shook her. “There, look, look, why can’t you see?” she yelled. “You’ve got to do something, do something!”

The words rang in Rose’s ears as she woke up, as if Nancy had really been in her room, screaming them.

Do what? she thought and felt miserable. Nancy had been found, lifted out of the pine needles, washed and purified, sung to heaven at St. Andrew’s church and laid to rest in Bethboro Cemetery. What did she want Rose to do about that? What could she do?

Shivering, Rose got up and went into the hall and fished around in the linen closet for the hot-water bottle as quietly as she could. Her mother woke up anyway.

She felt Rose’s head for a fever. “I hope you’re not coming down with the flu.”

Just a bad dream, Mom, she almost replied, but bit her tongue just in time.

Mom filled the hot-water bottle and insisted on tucking Rose back into bed. It made her feel like a little kid, safe and oblivious. It was nice, very cozy.

“Night, Rose,” Mom said, kissing her forehead. 67

“Night, Mom,” she whispered drowsily. But as her mother turned away, the folds of her nightdress brushed Rose’s hand, and Rose was chilled again by the memory of Nancy’s diaphanous robe. The trembling returned full force. It was impossible to recapture that momentary childhood coziness in spite of the hot-water bottle scalding her toes. She couldn’t go back to sleep. Now, she was truly afraid.

This was not a coincidence to be rationalized away with Jerram’s logic. This was something else. Something very important. How could she explain it? She felt … chosen.

Just thinking such a word made her tremble. Whether she liked it or not, whether she knew what to do about it or not, she was being called by the dead … to avenge them.

Nine

She woke feeling groggy and on edge. Got dressed and went downstairs fully expecting to hear bad news. Dad woke up to the radio and always gave a news report at breakfast.